FIC: Zipped Up and Undone (1/1)
Title: Zipped Up and Undone
Rating: NC-17 / Explicit
Pairing: Clint/Coulson (Avengers Movieverse)
Summary: Written for a prompt (via Tumblr): "Coulson likes to wear pretty dresses during his downtime. Clint likes taking them off of him." Clint never quite gets the dress off Phil, and there are a lot more pheels than I expected, but there is Phil in a dress and Clint thoroughly enjoying this, so I hope it still fits!
Word Count: 1,876
Notes: No beta on this one, because I am impatient and it is mostly porn.
Clint is the absolute last person Phil ever wants to find out about his private habits. Clint has an easy, rough masculinity to him that makes Phil desperately certain he could never understand. He wouldn't mean it to hurt, but surely he'd take one look at Phil's closet and crack some sort of joke and Phil would never again be sure he had Clint's respect. It's why Phil has kept the agent at arm's length no matter how many, increasingly obvious, invitations he issues, no matter how much Phil wants to take him up on one of them.
He'd forgotten, somehow, just how stubborn Clint could be.
Phil comes home, tired and slightly depressed, and pauses when he gets to his bedroom door and finds it slightly ajar. He never leaves his bedroom door open, never. He draws his weapon and nudges the door wider, eases up to look into the room...and freezes. Clint is standing in front of his closet, the doors flung wide, exposing the row of neatly hung dresses. Far too many to have been left behind by some ex.
Slowly, Phil lowers his weapon and engages the safety. He holsters it before pushing his bedroom door open and stepping inside. "Barton," he says, and it comes out flat.
Clint spins around and stares at him, eyes wide. "I thought I wasn't being blatant enough," Clint blurts. "I can tell you want me, I thought you just didn't believe I wasn't joking. I was going to strip down and let you find me on your bed in nothing but one of your ties." He waves wordlessly at the closet.
Phil closes his eyes against the bitter realization that he's going to lose what little he has of the man he wants more than anything precisely because that man wants him back. "Just go," he says, and it doesn't matter if his voice breaks. Not now.
There's a rustle of fabric, and soft footsteps. "Phil." Clint's voice is soft and uncertain and much, much closer than Phil expects. He opens his eyes and finds Clint standing just inside his personal space. There's something in his hands. "Would you..." Clint trails off, swallows and licks his lips. "Would you put this one on? For me?"
Clint offers his hands and Phil realizes he's holding one of the dresses. The fabric is black and purple checked, not satin but with some of the same sheen to it. It's sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a cinched in waist and an asymmetrical skirt that ends just above the knee. It's never been one of Phil's favorites, but the look in Clint's eyes makes him think that might be changing.
He strips out of his suit slowly, still a little afraid there's going to come a point at which all of this is too much for Clint. But as Clint watches, a flush blooms high on his cheeks and his fingers clench in the fabric of the dress he's holding. By the time Phil is naked he's not so nervous anymore, because Clint can't seem to look away. Phil holds out his hand and Clint gives him the dress, then rubs his palms against his jeans. Phil drops his gaze to unzip the dress, and pauses when his eyes skim past Clint's groin. Clint's hard.
Phil's heart starts pounding. He slides the zipper down and carefully steps into the dress. He's not wearing any underwear, and his skin tingles as he pulls the smooth fabric up his body and settles the straps on his shoulders. There's a little ribbon strung through the zipper pull so that Phil can close it himself, but he pauses. He can't make himself look up at Clint, but he does turn, showing Clint his back. "Zip me up?"
"Okay," Clint says, voice uneven. He takes hold of the zipper pull and puts the other hand on Phil's hip. Phil's eyes slide shut as he drinks in the heat of Clint's hand, the whisper of sensation where his fingers rub the dress against Phil's skin. Clint closes the zipper slowly, far more slowly than Phil expects. The gradual tightening of the fabric around him as it's closed is unexpectedly sensual. When he's done, Clint splays his hand against the bare skin between Phil's shoulder blades for a moment before dropping it to Phil's other hip. "Turn?" Clint asks softly.
Phil takes a deep breath and forced himself to lift his gaze from the floor before he turns around, Clint's hands sliding over his back and belly before settling back on his hips again, never letting go of him, and meets Clint's eyes. They gaze at each other for a moment before Clint slowly looks Phil up and down. "You are so fucking hot," he says, and Phil has to laugh, because that's so far from what he was expecting that it actually makes him a little dizzy.
He shakes his head even as he brings his hands up to curl around Clint's biceps. "I'm not."
"I think I get to decide what I like, sir," Clint says. His eyes go wandering again, openly appreciative.
"Phil."
Clint looks back up. "What?"
"I need you to call me Phil right now," Phil says, because he's worked damn hard to keep this part of himself as far from work as humanly possible.
"Phil," Clint says slowly, rolling Phil's name around in his mouth like he can taste it. "Can I kiss you, Phil?"
Phil's heart leaps. "Please."
Clint's eyes drop to Phil's lips as he pulls him in close, and Phil has never felt this kind of nervous anticipation before. It's all he can do not to tighten his grip on Clint's arms. He catches his breath when Clint's hand slide off his hips and palm his lower back instead. Phil closes his eyes and their lips meet and it's slow, not at all what he expected.
Maybe he should stop making assumptions about Clint, because Clint is sliding one hand up Phil's back, lightly tracing edge of the dress, and his mouth is gentle but certain, so certain. Phil parts his lips without thinking and Clint deepens the kiss, pressing Phil against him with broad, warm hands. Phil moans low in his throat and presses closer, a shock of pleasure going through him when their hips line up and he realizes that Clint isn't the only one who's hard. It's been so long since he's been touched, and never like this, satiny fabric on his skin and his cock and a callused hand tracing the straps of the dress and eager fingers rucking up the hem and reaching under to palm his ass. Phil gasps, startled. Clint pauses, mouths red from kissing. "Okay?"
Phil has to stop, make himself think. But...this is real. Clint is here, he's kissed Phil, he's got his hand on Phil's ass, and he doesn't seem to care that Phil is wearing a dress. Maybe he even likes it. And God, Phil has wanted Clint for a long time. "Just tell me you aren't going to wish this hadn't happened, later," Phil says. He doesn't mean sex.
Clint doesn't pretend to misunderstand. He leans in and kisses Phil, slow and dirty, and speaks against his mouth when he's done. "There is no way I could ever wish I hadn't gotten to see a part of you that you've never shared with anyone else." He backs up, pulling Phil with him, and sits down on the bed. "I'm never going to wish that I never realized that the suits are just camouflage, and that there's so much more going on underneath." He leans forward and kisses Phil's stomach. The dress grows wet under his tongue and Phil moans and climbs up to straddle his lap, the skirt of the dress pushing up to his hips because his legs are splayed so wide.
Clint pulls him close and bucks his hips up, the rough fabric of his jeans too harsh through the thin folds of the dress. Phil reaches for his fly, yanking open button and zipper and feeling a hot surge of excitement when he pushes his hand inside and finds Clint's skin. Of course he'd gone commando if he was planning on stripping down for Phil. He draws Clint's cock out of his jeans and Clint makes a choked, eager noise. Phil looks down at Clint and, fuck, he looks wrecked. He's panting, lips shining where he's been licking them, and his eyes are half closed, and he's flushed with arousal, and he is the most gorgeous thing Phil has seen in his whole life.
Phil puts a hand on Clint's shoulder to steady himself and gathers up the folds of the skirt between them and pushes in close. When he's close enough he lets the satiny fabric whisper down over his wrist to cover them both and takes Clint's cock in his hand. Clint jerks up into his grip and squeezes Phil's ass in his hands, his breath coming rough. "Yeah," he groans. "You feel so good, Phil."
Laughter bubbles up in his chest, but Phil swallows it, because he doesn't want Clint to misunderstand, not now, and he sure doesn't want to stop to explain the heady joy that's washing through him. Instead he kisses Clint, makes it deep and wet and hungry, and squirms around until he gets into just the right spot to take both of them in his hand at the same time. Clint moans into his mouth, but they don't stop kissing. Phil's pretty sure he's going to kiss Clint forever, one way or another.
Pressed together the way they are, pre-come and sweat just taking the edge off of the slide of Phil's hand, Phil can feel every throb and twitch of Clint's cock, but with the dress pooling between them he can't see it. Somehow, that makes it even better. Everything is tucked between them, safe and private, but they can feel it, hot and eager and perfect. Phil can feel Clint getting close. He breathes in the hitches in his breath, speeds the stroking of his hand, and urges Clint over the edge. His come smoothes the way for Phil to jerk himself off a little harder, a little tighter. He cries out when he comes, his whole body shuddering for a moment before the strength goes right out of him.
Clint catches him and helps him move up onto the bed far enough for them to lie down. Phil eventually works up the energy to wipe his hand clean on the sheets and turn onto his side. Clint is already propped up on one elbow, facing him. When Phil meets his eyes he smiles and reaches out, lets his hand lay on the bed between them.
Phil doesn't hesitate to tangle their fingers together.
"We, uh, we didn't ruin it, did we?" Clint asks, nodding at the dress Phil is wearing.
It's marked with sweat and come and is twisted and bunched around Phil's body in ways that are going to be really uncomfortable in a minute, but Phil smiles. "I hope not. I'll do my best to get it clean. But if it is..."
"Worth it," Clint finishes, grinning.
~!~
Rating: NC-17 / Explicit
Pairing: Clint/Coulson (Avengers Movieverse)
Summary: Written for a prompt (via Tumblr): "Coulson likes to wear pretty dresses during his downtime. Clint likes taking them off of him." Clint never quite gets the dress off Phil, and there are a lot more pheels than I expected, but there is Phil in a dress and Clint thoroughly enjoying this, so I hope it still fits!
Word Count: 1,876
Notes: No beta on this one, because I am impatient and it is mostly porn.
Clint is the absolute last person Phil ever wants to find out about his private habits. Clint has an easy, rough masculinity to him that makes Phil desperately certain he could never understand. He wouldn't mean it to hurt, but surely he'd take one look at Phil's closet and crack some sort of joke and Phil would never again be sure he had Clint's respect. It's why Phil has kept the agent at arm's length no matter how many, increasingly obvious, invitations he issues, no matter how much Phil wants to take him up on one of them.
He'd forgotten, somehow, just how stubborn Clint could be.
Phil comes home, tired and slightly depressed, and pauses when he gets to his bedroom door and finds it slightly ajar. He never leaves his bedroom door open, never. He draws his weapon and nudges the door wider, eases up to look into the room...and freezes. Clint is standing in front of his closet, the doors flung wide, exposing the row of neatly hung dresses. Far too many to have been left behind by some ex.
Slowly, Phil lowers his weapon and engages the safety. He holsters it before pushing his bedroom door open and stepping inside. "Barton," he says, and it comes out flat.
Clint spins around and stares at him, eyes wide. "I thought I wasn't being blatant enough," Clint blurts. "I can tell you want me, I thought you just didn't believe I wasn't joking. I was going to strip down and let you find me on your bed in nothing but one of your ties." He waves wordlessly at the closet.
Phil closes his eyes against the bitter realization that he's going to lose what little he has of the man he wants more than anything precisely because that man wants him back. "Just go," he says, and it doesn't matter if his voice breaks. Not now.
There's a rustle of fabric, and soft footsteps. "Phil." Clint's voice is soft and uncertain and much, much closer than Phil expects. He opens his eyes and finds Clint standing just inside his personal space. There's something in his hands. "Would you..." Clint trails off, swallows and licks his lips. "Would you put this one on? For me?"
Clint offers his hands and Phil realizes he's holding one of the dresses. The fabric is black and purple checked, not satin but with some of the same sheen to it. It's sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a cinched in waist and an asymmetrical skirt that ends just above the knee. It's never been one of Phil's favorites, but the look in Clint's eyes makes him think that might be changing.
He strips out of his suit slowly, still a little afraid there's going to come a point at which all of this is too much for Clint. But as Clint watches, a flush blooms high on his cheeks and his fingers clench in the fabric of the dress he's holding. By the time Phil is naked he's not so nervous anymore, because Clint can't seem to look away. Phil holds out his hand and Clint gives him the dress, then rubs his palms against his jeans. Phil drops his gaze to unzip the dress, and pauses when his eyes skim past Clint's groin. Clint's hard.
Phil's heart starts pounding. He slides the zipper down and carefully steps into the dress. He's not wearing any underwear, and his skin tingles as he pulls the smooth fabric up his body and settles the straps on his shoulders. There's a little ribbon strung through the zipper pull so that Phil can close it himself, but he pauses. He can't make himself look up at Clint, but he does turn, showing Clint his back. "Zip me up?"
"Okay," Clint says, voice uneven. He takes hold of the zipper pull and puts the other hand on Phil's hip. Phil's eyes slide shut as he drinks in the heat of Clint's hand, the whisper of sensation where his fingers rub the dress against Phil's skin. Clint closes the zipper slowly, far more slowly than Phil expects. The gradual tightening of the fabric around him as it's closed is unexpectedly sensual. When he's done, Clint splays his hand against the bare skin between Phil's shoulder blades for a moment before dropping it to Phil's other hip. "Turn?" Clint asks softly.
Phil takes a deep breath and forced himself to lift his gaze from the floor before he turns around, Clint's hands sliding over his back and belly before settling back on his hips again, never letting go of him, and meets Clint's eyes. They gaze at each other for a moment before Clint slowly looks Phil up and down. "You are so fucking hot," he says, and Phil has to laugh, because that's so far from what he was expecting that it actually makes him a little dizzy.
He shakes his head even as he brings his hands up to curl around Clint's biceps. "I'm not."
"I think I get to decide what I like, sir," Clint says. His eyes go wandering again, openly appreciative.
"Phil."
Clint looks back up. "What?"
"I need you to call me Phil right now," Phil says, because he's worked damn hard to keep this part of himself as far from work as humanly possible.
"Phil," Clint says slowly, rolling Phil's name around in his mouth like he can taste it. "Can I kiss you, Phil?"
Phil's heart leaps. "Please."
Clint's eyes drop to Phil's lips as he pulls him in close, and Phil has never felt this kind of nervous anticipation before. It's all he can do not to tighten his grip on Clint's arms. He catches his breath when Clint's hand slide off his hips and palm his lower back instead. Phil closes his eyes and their lips meet and it's slow, not at all what he expected.
Maybe he should stop making assumptions about Clint, because Clint is sliding one hand up Phil's back, lightly tracing edge of the dress, and his mouth is gentle but certain, so certain. Phil parts his lips without thinking and Clint deepens the kiss, pressing Phil against him with broad, warm hands. Phil moans low in his throat and presses closer, a shock of pleasure going through him when their hips line up and he realizes that Clint isn't the only one who's hard. It's been so long since he's been touched, and never like this, satiny fabric on his skin and his cock and a callused hand tracing the straps of the dress and eager fingers rucking up the hem and reaching under to palm his ass. Phil gasps, startled. Clint pauses, mouths red from kissing. "Okay?"
Phil has to stop, make himself think. But...this is real. Clint is here, he's kissed Phil, he's got his hand on Phil's ass, and he doesn't seem to care that Phil is wearing a dress. Maybe he even likes it. And God, Phil has wanted Clint for a long time. "Just tell me you aren't going to wish this hadn't happened, later," Phil says. He doesn't mean sex.
Clint doesn't pretend to misunderstand. He leans in and kisses Phil, slow and dirty, and speaks against his mouth when he's done. "There is no way I could ever wish I hadn't gotten to see a part of you that you've never shared with anyone else." He backs up, pulling Phil with him, and sits down on the bed. "I'm never going to wish that I never realized that the suits are just camouflage, and that there's so much more going on underneath." He leans forward and kisses Phil's stomach. The dress grows wet under his tongue and Phil moans and climbs up to straddle his lap, the skirt of the dress pushing up to his hips because his legs are splayed so wide.
Clint pulls him close and bucks his hips up, the rough fabric of his jeans too harsh through the thin folds of the dress. Phil reaches for his fly, yanking open button and zipper and feeling a hot surge of excitement when he pushes his hand inside and finds Clint's skin. Of course he'd gone commando if he was planning on stripping down for Phil. He draws Clint's cock out of his jeans and Clint makes a choked, eager noise. Phil looks down at Clint and, fuck, he looks wrecked. He's panting, lips shining where he's been licking them, and his eyes are half closed, and he's flushed with arousal, and he is the most gorgeous thing Phil has seen in his whole life.
Phil puts a hand on Clint's shoulder to steady himself and gathers up the folds of the skirt between them and pushes in close. When he's close enough he lets the satiny fabric whisper down over his wrist to cover them both and takes Clint's cock in his hand. Clint jerks up into his grip and squeezes Phil's ass in his hands, his breath coming rough. "Yeah," he groans. "You feel so good, Phil."
Laughter bubbles up in his chest, but Phil swallows it, because he doesn't want Clint to misunderstand, not now, and he sure doesn't want to stop to explain the heady joy that's washing through him. Instead he kisses Clint, makes it deep and wet and hungry, and squirms around until he gets into just the right spot to take both of them in his hand at the same time. Clint moans into his mouth, but they don't stop kissing. Phil's pretty sure he's going to kiss Clint forever, one way or another.
Pressed together the way they are, pre-come and sweat just taking the edge off of the slide of Phil's hand, Phil can feel every throb and twitch of Clint's cock, but with the dress pooling between them he can't see it. Somehow, that makes it even better. Everything is tucked between them, safe and private, but they can feel it, hot and eager and perfect. Phil can feel Clint getting close. He breathes in the hitches in his breath, speeds the stroking of his hand, and urges Clint over the edge. His come smoothes the way for Phil to jerk himself off a little harder, a little tighter. He cries out when he comes, his whole body shuddering for a moment before the strength goes right out of him.
Clint catches him and helps him move up onto the bed far enough for them to lie down. Phil eventually works up the energy to wipe his hand clean on the sheets and turn onto his side. Clint is already propped up on one elbow, facing him. When Phil meets his eyes he smiles and reaches out, lets his hand lay on the bed between them.
Phil doesn't hesitate to tangle their fingers together.
"We, uh, we didn't ruin it, did we?" Clint asks, nodding at the dress Phil is wearing.
It's marked with sweat and come and is twisted and bunched around Phil's body in ways that are going to be really uncomfortable in a minute, but Phil smiles. "I hope not. I'll do my best to get it clean. But if it is..."
"Worth it," Clint finishes, grinning.
~!~